Threvobek, Jalebren


Two stablehands talk turkey. And mention laying hens.


It is noon of the nineteenth day of the first month of the second turn of the 12th pass.


Stables, Igen Weyr

OOC Date



The powerful odor of hot runner lies heavy in the air here, and even the relative open of the stable design - roomy stalls, lofty arches, this is incongruously one of the best designed buildings in the entire Weyr, legacy of a long-ago Weyrleader of Herder origins - cannot altogether dispel the stink of Animal. The Stables serve for the Weyr's population of runners, and house a small menagerie of other creatures. Avians, caprines and porcines all have their homes here, and all add to the earthy feel of the place.

Jalebren is seated in the center aisle he just swept, surrounded by a litter of kittens that were born about two months ago. He is just beaming at them as they rip and tear all around him in true kitten fashion. "Hey, get over here!" he hollers at a little orange menace trying to get into a grain bin. Shuffling to his feet, he makes his way over to the feline and plucks him from the bin. "Come on."

Threvobek, not an epic fan of milking, has nevertheless been assigned the task, filling in for Mablene who is heavily with child AGAIN. "If they spill or get fur in here I'll tie their tails together personally and put them under your shirt. Or down your pants, whichever hurts more." The caprine he's milking, referenced as "Brains" for her perfect lack thereof (stable irony), is temperamental and loud. And has not yet kicked the pail. "I'm on a roll here."

"Rev did I tell you who I saw the other day?" Jalebren gushes, purposely ignoring the kitten threat. Setting Orange back down amongst his brethren, Jay can't wait to start his story so he doesn't wait for a response. "W'rin. The Weyrleader. He was here in the stables and we actually talked." It's not every day you get a visit from Leadership, y'know. Dusting off his breeches, Jay yawns and stretches his arms out above his head. Chore time came early today…again.

Brains is now intolerant and putting pressure on the head lock, a device inspired by her and implemented two turns prior. She's also dancing and swaying her hind end, actions lauded when beautiful women do it but denounced by milkers everywhere. "W'rin was in here?" Skeptical, but the Weyrleader /can/ go wherever he sharding pleases. "What was he doing? Did he say he likes to milk?" Because they can totally arrange he express that hobby.

Two of the kittens tear down the center aisle and back again, causing Jalebren to crouch and scoop one of them up before it can get away. Cuddles abound and he meanders over to the caprine being milked. "Yeah, W'rin was here. Do you know how sharding huge that man is? I mean, I'm surprised he could fit in here because he's so tall." Naturally, everyone probably heard about his encounter with the Weyrleader because, hey, who wants to keep that to themselves? "His dragon was feeding in the Pens, so he came over to the stables to check it out and wait. I had just cleaned and swept, thank Faranth." Placing the kitten on Threvobek's shoulder, Jay wanders over to Orange again and picks him up. "So is Brains the last one to be milked?"

Threvobek usually out-thwarts Brains's tantrums by holding the pail well behind her and squirting the milk backwards. It's just far more tedious. "Shells and sandstorms, isn't this like Mablene's fifth child this turn? Dendra took over the last time." But the woman just had to defect to Southern and follow her equally turncoat husband who made the best harnesses. "He's tall. How many beasts did Valiuth eat?" Too tall for too low a job, Rev pivots on the tiny stool. DONE. Kitten prints turn into sudden claws on his shoulder as it walks over the top of his back. Cringing, "I swear I'll throw it, and not in a hay pile."

"Yeah, done," Rev floats over, "Saved the best for last."

"I don't know, I hate the Pens." Jalebren replies with a shudder as he makes his way back over to Rev and the kitten. Plucking the small furball from his buddy's shoulder, he now holds two squirming felines. Rather than succumb to even more scratches, he sets them both back down at the ground and they go about their shenanigans. "I swear Mablene has more kids to get out of work. I'd rather muck a thousand pens than have a screaming kid around all the time." The bucket of fresh milk is picked up and he heads toward the milk room. "You can deal with Brains. I'm sure she'll get lost going from the tether to her pen."

Threvobek sighs with his tongue out unnecessarily at the lack of a casualty number. "Details, man, details." But nothing he can't count for himself if the ambition was there. "I agree. We need more creative excuses for our chore-dodging." When he gets up from the stool, the young man's knees aren't easy to flex. "Think my legs locked up. We're too young to get joint-ail right?" Shake it out, shake it out, loose boot laces flying. "If she weren't such a sharding good producer I'd eat her myself." With a side of wild river grains and leeks.

Jalebren returns from the milk room and shoos some kittens away from the swinging doors. "Get out of there, that's not for you." he says, gently pushing a few to the side with his boot. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. When W'rin was here, Shadow was chasing one of the hens again. I had to bolt out of here to make sure that thing didn't kill one of the layers." Because then he'd hear it from the Stablemaster and he's not going to get yelled at because of that mangy feline again. "I think Shadow is responsible for…this." A gesture to the litter of kittens scattered about the place.

Brains is lead/pulled back to the interior pens where she's not eligible for draconic snack-hood. Threvobek returns, throwing his head back to force back his hair. He's caught most of what Jalebren said. "Shadow's new name's gonna be Smear if she keeps it up." It's not like Weyr avian populations are teeming. Poached eggs are all but reserved for Sadaiya's fancy and Important Visiting Attaches. "But if her offspring can hunt 'snakes and not tear into our lunches," yes, Rev's still lamenting the loss of that seasoned sausage he'd been saving last month. "They'll be useful. If anyone can make them see the light, it's you." O Herder of Cats. Talk then inevitably turns to gambling and the last ring stakes. Their work output predictably suffers.

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